


A Cross-Country Trip and Rain

by myglassesaredirty



Series: Oh Boy, Kiddo [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming
Genre: I made an OC that I might write more on later, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Proof that Tony Stark has a heart, Tumblr request, cross country road trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 08:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myglassesaredirty/pseuds/myglassesaredirty
Summary: He’s the first SI intern since…well, ever. So, naturally, that means he must be introduced to the cameras, and naturally, that means Tony has to take him on a cross-country road trips.And that’s where he discovers that Peter’s a little more broken than he should be.





	A Cross-Country Trip and Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This took so long. Prosefershape on tumblr requested “Peter is dealing with nightmares (being crushed by a building and falling off a plane do that to you) and general anxiety during patrol. He offhandedly tells this to Karen cuz what else would you do between muggings and Karen tells Tony cuz ‘spider son is not doing okay, take care of him’ who tries his best to be a more Supportive Mentor™ and tells Peter about his nightmares and his healing.”

“ _Are you serious_?”

“Tony, I swear, if this is code for another mission, I will actually rip your head off.”

Tony winces at May’s threat and decides instead to address Peter’s question. “Yeah, Pete. I’m letting you on as an actual intern. And I don’t trust your coffee-making skills, so it’s going to be for useful projects. Medical advancements, technology, AI building, stuff like that.”

Peter’s grin is bright enough to blind him. “That is so cool.”

“However,” he continues, “you’re the first intern for Stark Industries in the history of ever, so that means…” He winces and turns to May. “Introductions to our investors and employees.”

May narrows her eyes at him. “Every word out of your mouth better be true.”

Tony lifts his hands in surrender. “It is, I promise.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small pamphlet, handing it to May. She reluctantly takes it and studies it while he continues talking. “There’s an event – a party, if you will – over in California over Peter’s spring break. He’s invited. There’s no alcohol, don’t worry.”

She eyes him warily. “I highly doubt that.”

He smiles tightly. “He won’t be allowed to drink any alcohol, I should say. The strongest thing he can have is apple cider.”

“That’s better.”

“Now,” he says, fiddling with his watch, “you can decline, but I felt like it would be a good thing. You know, get the people to meet the person I plan to entrust with SI later on.”

Peter’s eyes, if possible, get even wider. “Are you serious?” he repeats.

Tony nods. “Yes. Again, completely up to you and May, but I would appreciate you coming. Those things get so boring after a while.”

May looks over the pamphlet. “I’ll think about it.”

\---

Peter, for some God-forsaken reason, wants to go on a cross-country road trip.

And, for some other God-forsaken reason, he and May decide that the perfect time for this is during his spring break.

Which means that Tony’s the one who has to take him on a road trip across approximately 2,900 miles.

But he can’t say no.

Which is how he finds himself waiting on the Parkers’ couch while Peter packs a suitcase and an entertainment bag, as he calls it.

“Mr. Stark, will you help me with homework?” Peter’s voice is slightly muffled by the somewhat-closed door.

Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes, lest May catch it. “Did teachers seriously assign you homework over the break?”

Something crashes to the ground, and Peter shouts an apology. “Sorry! Sorry. But uh, yeah, they did, even though they give up the same time we do.”

“Which is spring break,” he mutters under his breath.

“Exactly,” Peter calls.

Right. Spider-hearing. It’s never going to stop being weird.

He does roll his eyes this time, and May playfully smacks him with a dish towel. “Alright, alright, I’ll help with what I can, kid.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark!”

Five minutes later, Peter comes out of his room hauling a suitcase the size of Texas. “I’m packed!”

Tony takes off his sunglasses and regards Peter and the suitcase. “I hope to God you didn’t pack your suit in that.”

Peter furrows his brow. “Which suit?”

“The one that you’ll be wearing to the event…?”

Peter opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and opens it again. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t supposed to pack that?”

Tony scrubs a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, kid. No, you don’t pack that. It gets wrinkled.”

“Oh.”

Tony waves a hand. “It’s alright, I have some extras. We’re about the same height.”

Peter says nothing, but Tony can see the unspoken point in his eyes.

“We’ll get there a day or so early, so I’ll have someone tailor it for you. Capiche?”

Peter nods. “Gotcha.”

He checks his watch. “If we want to make it to Ohio before midnight, we need to get going. Car’s parked outside.”

Peter shrugs his backpack higher. “Okay.” He gives May a kiss on the cheek. “See you later.”

She smiles. “Have fun, Peter.”

“I’ll try,” Tony mutters, reaching for the suitcase with one hand.

\---

He honestly does not have enough coffee in his system to deal with this. Or alcohol, for that matter.

Once they had hit a stretch of highway that was practically void of police cars, Tony had pulled over and let Peter drive. Now, he’s starting to realize the magnitude of his mistake.

He takes another drink of coffee. “A little faster, Pete. Speed limits include minimum speed.”

Peter grips the wheel tightly, just barely pressing on the gas pedal. “I thought you were supposed to drive slower at night.”

Tony shrugs and continues to regard the road. “It’s recommended to go five to ten miles under the speed limit in the dark. Not thirty.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m doing just fine.”

“For a grandma in a parking lot, sure.”

Peter huffs. “What if I go too fast?”

Tony shakes his head, watching closely for any passing cars. “I won’t let that happen, kid. You’re a new driver.”

Peter takes a deep breath and presses his foot against the gas pedal. The car lurches, and the coffee in Tony’s cup sloshes.

“That’s it. A little more gas, kid.”

Peter speeds up.

“Stay in the middle of the lane.”

“H-how do I…do that?”

Tony winces, trying to figure out how best to explain it. “Can you see those faint lines?”

“No.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll just tell you if you’re heavy on one side or the other.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. “Al-alright, Mr. Stark. Thanks.”

“You’re too heavy on your side.”

Peter jerks the steering wheel to the right, and Tony reacts more quickly than he cares to admit. He sits up immediately, grabs the steering wheel, and straightens it out.

“Rule number one of highway driving: you don’t jerk the wheel unless you’re trying to avoid hitting someone or something. Like a deer. Rule number two,” he adds quickly, “don’t brake if you can help it. You’ll skid. Just take your foot off the gas pedal until you slow down enough.”

As luck would have it, a deer jumps out into the middle of the road and just stands there.

He should have knocked on wood.

Peter also doesn’t brake.

Tony sits up and smacks Peter’s shoulder. “Brake! Brake!”

“You told me not to brake!”

“I’m telling you now! Hit the damn brake!”

Peter brakes, and the car skids. Tony grips the wheel in his left hand and jerks it to his side. “A little help here, buddy!” he grits through his teeth.

Peter speeds up.

They miss the deer.

“Pull over, pull over,” Tony says once they’re clear of danger. “I’m driving.”

“But, Mr. Stark –”

“I can handle only one life-or-death situation a week, kid. The spot for this week was already filled. Uh-uh, out of the driver’s seat.”

Peter gripes, but opens the door anyway.

“Don’t open it all the way, and _quickly_ walk around the back. Don’t want you getting hit,” he murmurs.

Once they’re both settled in to their original spots, Tony starts the car again and tells Peter to look for the exit.

“You’re going really fast, Mr. Stark.”

“Making up for lost time,” he says dryly. He taps the screen. “See? It’s past midnight.”

Peter huffs out a laugh and tugs his sweatshirt sleeves down a little. “I never knew that the ‘deer in the headlights’ thing was a real thing.”

Tony hums in confirmation. “It’s really annoying, to be honest.”

Peter taps on the window. “There’s the exit.”

Tony jerks the wheel (much more smoothly that Peter, might he add) and takes the exit.

“You’re getting the full cross-country road trip experience, kid,” he says as he squints, looking for their motel. “That means motels that smell of stale cigarettes and peanuts.”

“No hotels?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not until we get to San Francisco.”

\---

They pull into the parking lot about twenty minutes later, and Tony shuts off the car. He reaches into the back and tosses Peter’s overnight bag at him. “Come on,” he says with a jerk of his head, “I’m going to go check in.”

Peter takes a shaky breath and climbs out of the car, closing the door behind him. He slings his duffel over his shoulder and follows Tony, sticking close to his side.

“Have-have you ever stayed here before?”

Tony tosses him a raised eyebrow. “This specific motel? No. I’ve stayed at a couple after…” He winces, remembering that most of his motel stays concerned heavy drinking and highway driving. “I had an accident on the road.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows. “Really? What happened?”

“Hit a deer. There was blood all over my car.” He neglects to tell Peter that some of it was his own.

“Oh.”

Tony walks into the lobby and approaches the front desk. “One room, please.”

You see, he likes motels because people there don’t really care that Tony Stark is coming to stay. They don’t freak out and prepare the nicest room possible for him. They just give him what’s available.

The receptionist types something into the computer. “Name?”

Tony looks at Peter and shrugs. “Parker.”

Peter’s eyes widen and he looks to Tony. Tony gives him a look that means “tell you later” and Peter nods in understanding.

“For how long?”

“One night, ma’am.”

The receptionist nods and reaches under the counter, sliding him two keys. “Room 109.”

“Thank you.”

They leave the lobby and head outside. “Which one is 109?” Peter asks.

Tony squints at the numbers as they pass by each door. “Not sure. It’s either on this side or the far side.”

Peter points to a room close to their car. “I think that’s 109.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

Sure enough, when they get to the door Peter was pointing at, the number reads as 109.

Peter grins cheekily. “Told ya.”

Tony rolls his eyes again and opens the door. “Smart ass.”

The room is…cramped. At least in terms of what Tony knows. It’s the size of one of his bathrooms, two beds hug either wall, the carpet is stained, a small TV sits on a stand in front of the far wall, and it reeks of cigarettes and alcohol. Tony tosses his bag on one of the beds and Peter sits on the other.

He surveys the room again. “I’m gonna take a shower. If you want the hot water, you’re going to have to beat me there.”

Peter lies down. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You need one,” Tony calls over his shoulder. He knows Peter’s sticking his tongue out at him.

Twelve minutes and all the hot water later, Tony walks out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a musty towel. Peter’s asleep on the bed, his feet still touching the floor.

Tony smiles softly and walks quietly over to him, gently removing Peter’s shoes and tucking his legs under the covers.

“‘ister Star?” he slurs.

“You need some rest, kiddo,” he whispers. He brings the covers up to Peter’s chin.

“Haven’…brushed my…teeth.”

“Get some rest, kiddo,” Tony repeats.

“Not tired.”

“Mhm.”

Peter tugs the covers closer to his face, seemingly unbothered by their smell. “You know any lullabies, Mr. Stark?”

Tony pulls back his own covers, only a little shocked by Peter’s question. “Only Italian ones,” he finally says, climbing into his bed.

“I know ‘talian,” Peter murmurs.

“I’m sure you do.” He sighs and tugs his covers up to his neck, turning on his side and propping himself up with his left hand. “Which one do you want me to sing you, Pete?”

“Which is your favorite?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Will it help you sleep better?”

Peter’s response is immediate and raw. “It’ll make the nightmares go away.”

Nightmares. Right. He’d forgotten that the kid had gone through hell already.

He sighs again. “Alright.” He readjusts. “Close your eyes.”

“They’re closed.”

“Then shut up.” When he’s sure that Peter isn’t going to say anything, he begins singing, “Stella stellina, la notte si avvicina, la fiamma traballa, la mucca è nella stalla, la mucca col vitello, la pecora e l’agnello, la chioccia col pulcino, la mamma e il suo bambino, ognuno ha la sua mamma, e tutti fan la nanna.”

He stops singing for a moment and looks at Peter.

His face is relaxed, and he genuinely looks like a child. Tony’s seen it before, but now, in this environment, without threat of harm, it causes a twinge in his chest, and he smiles softly. Peter sniffles and rolls over onto his stomach, turning his head away from Tony.

Tony reaches over to turn off the light. “Goodnight, kid.”

\---

Light peeks through the slats of the blinds, and he groans, kicking the covers off. “Alright, kid, time to get up.”

Peter groans in complaint and pulls his covers over his head.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Come on, rise and shine.”

Peter grunts.

Tony sits on the edge of his bed. His back aches, his left arm shakes, and he’s exhausted. He sighs. “I’m going to brush my teeth and get dressed. I expect you to be up when I come back.” He stands, and his joints pop with the effort. “God, I’m getting old,” he says.

The water is cold when he splashes it over his face. He looks into the mirror for a second, and he sees a split image: Tony Stark, hostage and leader of weapon-manufacturing Stark Industries; and Mr. Stark, mentor to the most self-sacrificial teenager that has walked the earth.

He’s not sure what to make of that.

When he walks out of the bathroom, now wearing a pair of old jeans and a Doctor Who t-shirt, Peter is still asleep in bed. Tony rolls his eyes and tries to pull the covers off, but Peter’s grip is strong.

“Seriously, kid, we need to get going.”

“I’m tired.”

“We’ll be traveling for –” he checks his watch “– nine hours. You’ll have plenty of time to sleep then.”

“‘s _uncomfor’ble_.”

Tony manages to rip the covers off. “I don’t care; there’s a backseat for a reason, kid.”

Peter glares at him, and Tony is suddenly glad that he never had children of his own. He points to the bathroom. “Get ready.”

Peter huffs and walks toward the bathroom, grumbling all the while.

While he waits, Tony tosses yesterday’s clothes into his overnight bag and makes his bed. Peter walks out with mussed hair and bleary eyes.

“I’m tired,” he says.

“I know.” Tony tosses him his shoes. “If you want a less exhausting day, we need to get going. We’ll stop and get breakfast when we hit Indiana.”

Peter yawns. “Why so long?”

“It’s six o’clock, kid. I want to miss some highway traffic.”

“You’re old,” Peter points out as he starts to make his bed.

“But wiser.”

\---

They pull over at an Ihop in the outskirts of Monroeville. Peter’s stomach has been growling for the past hour, and Tony almost stopped the car to make him eat grass to stop hearing the sound of a grizzly bear every time Peter’s stomach protested hunger.

Peter orders a stack of pancakes, and as soon as they sit down, he drowns them in syrup and shovels them into his mouth. Tony slides a plate of waffles over to him and sips his cup of coffee. He picks at his French toast, and Peter finishes his pancakes in the span of three minutes and digs into the waffles immediately after that.

Tony leans forward, tapping his fingers against his cup. “What else do you want?”

Peter gulps and looks at Tony with wide eyes. “I don’t-I don’t need anything else, Mr. Stark.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m a multi-billionaire, Peter. I can afford to buy you another breakfast.”

“Oh. Um,” Peter takes a drink of orange juice. “Blueberry pancakes, French toast – the one you have looks good –, the waffles & chicken, and hash browns.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Tall order.” He stands and goes back to the counter and asks for Peter’s order. The employees stack it onto a tray, and Tony carries the tray back to their table.

“Here,” he says, setting it in the middle of the table. “Knock yourself out.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. He’s already finished his waffles, and he immediately dives into the French toast. Tony’s pretty sure Peter stopped chewing about two minutes ago.

Honestly, Tony has lost four years of his life watching Peter eat breakfast.

He drums his fingers on the surface of the table, now that he’s finished his own French toast. “After this, we’ll stop at the grocery store in Louisville and pick up some snacks.”

Peter nods and shovels another bite of pancakes into his mouth.

Tony’s still at a loss as to whether it’s the spider metabolism or the teenage boy metabolism that allows for Peter to eat this much.

Ten minutes later, Peter’s finished everything in front of him and his appetite seems to be appeased. Tony leaves a tip on the table and walks out the door, Peter following.

“Turn on some music,” he says once they’re in the car.

Peter turns on the radio and shuffles through several stations before he finds one that’s playing AC/DC.

Tony smiles at him. “I knew you were a smart kid,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot.

\---

They stop at a motel in Nebraska late into the night. Tony checks them in and walks back outside to wake Peter. Peter groggily slings his duffel over his shoulder. “My other clothes are in my suitcase,” he mumbles to Tony.

Tony nods. “I know, kid. We’ll get those out tomorrow.”

Once inside, he directs Peter to the shower, and this time, Peter goes. The door closes behind him, and Tony turns on the TV once he hears the water. There’s not a whole lot on TV, so he settles on what looks to be a soap opera. He’ll change it when Peter comes back in.

“Is that a soap opera?” Peter calls through the door.

Right. Spider hearing. He keeps forgetting.

Tony huffs. “Yeah. You want me to change it?”

“Only if it gets graphic. I can…” Peter trails off, and then seems to realize that Tony can’t see him. “Hear, you know.”

“Kid, it’s a soap opera, I don’t think –” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a sex scene comes on, and Tony changes the channel to ESPN so quickly that there is a slim chance that Peter even heard anything, spider hearing and all.

“Ew. Sports.”

Tony laughs a little. “Well, why don’t you choose when you get out here?”

“I shall.” There’s a pause before he says, “Is there a guide button?”

Tony checks the remote. “Yes.”

“What movies are on?”

“You get to choose when you get out here. Right now, I call the shots.”

“You hate sports.”

“You try living with two assassins, a supersoldier, a witch, an alien with more beef than a burger joint, and an android that can pass through people at will. I don’t think you’d like sports either.”

“I took on Captain America!”

Tony wants to say something about how he’s taken on aliens, a demigod, an army of robots, two supersoldiers at once, the aforementioned buff alien, a man with the same arc reactor technology and electric whips that sliced a door in half, and a Hulk. But he decides to leave it.

“I’m a fan of…” He squints at the TV, trying to read the name of one of the players. “Carey Price,” he finally decides.

“Who?”

“I root for the underdog, kid.” He settles back against his pillow. The grocery bag sits on the nightstand in between both beds, and he reaches for a bag of chips.

Peter comes out of the bathroom shaking the water from his hair. He grins at Tony. “There’s no more hot water.”

Tony rolls his eyes and tosses him the remote. “Turd nugget.” Standing, he grabs his pajamas and heads into the bathroom. “Make sure it’s appropriate!” he calls.

Peter sticks his tongue out at him.

Tony closes the door behind him and cranks the shower knob, running his hand under the cool water. He sighs and gets in, quickly washing off any grime from the day. The water is ice cold on his back, and he almost hesitates to stick his head underneath.

He steps out three minutes later.

When he gets dressed, he walks back into the room to find Peter watching an old TV show. “What is this?” he asks, nodding to the TV.

Peter looks up. “It’s M*A*S*H. The last episode was pretty funny.”

Tony shrugs and picks up his bag of chips, resituating himself on his bed. “It’s a good show. My godmother used to watch this with me when I was younger.”

Peter turns to him with a furrowed brow. “You had a godmother?”

“You ever hear of Peggy Carter?”

Peter sits up straighter. “Dude, you knew Peggy Carter? _The_ Peggy Carter? She’s so badass!”

Tony smiles. “She was. And yeah, she was more of a parent to me than my dad was.” A cloud passes over his face, but he forces a smile. “Yeah.”

Peter seems to realize that some part of the conversation is a touchy subject, so he turns back to the TV. A little black strip pops up on the screen, warning about a possible tornado.

Peter’s breath hitches, and he blinks faster. He thinks Tony doesn’t catch it, but well…that’s not true.

Tony forgets about his chips. “Kid?”

Peter licks his lips. “Are-are we safe in a tornado?”

Tony looks at the screen and shrugs. “I’d assume so. Nebraska is known for their tornadoes. They know how to prepare for one.”

“I know, I know, just…can the building withstand it?”

Tony purses his lips. “I don’t know.” He watches as Peter’s breathing becomes increasingly labored, and he catches the slight tremor in his hands. “Your hands are shaking,” he points out.

Peter looks at him with wide eyes and gulps. “They-they are?”

Tony reaches for the remote and turns off the television. “What are you not telling me?”

Peter shakes his head. “N-nothing. I’m-I’m fine, Mr. Stark.”

“Bull.”

Peter takes another shaky breath. “It’s just…I really hate wind. And I’m scared of tornadoes.”

It doesn’t seem that Peter’s lying, but Tony’s positive that there’s something else. “Peter,” he says slowly, “what are you not telling me?”

Peter shrugs. “Re-remember when I fought the Vulture?”

Tony clenches his jaw. “Yeah,” he says after a moment.

“Well, um…” Peter huffs out a laugh, but it’s anything but humorous. “He dropped a building on me. A warehouse, actually.”

It takes a moment for Peter’s words to process in Tony’s mind, but when they do, he’s fully awake. “What happened?” There’s a thousand other questions he wants to ask, but none of them seem as important as that one.

Peter looks away, to the blank television screen. “I couldn’t get out. No one was around to help me, and I tried…” He takes another shaky breath and blinks away tears. “I tried calling for help, but no one who cared was close enough to hear me, and it hurt and I really thought I was going to die, Mr. Stark.”

Tony waits for Peter to tell him more, but it seems as if that’s it. “Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?” His voice is soft.

Peter tries to smile, but it’s broken. “I didn’t…I don’t know. I thought that you wouldn’t care.”

Tony gets off the bed and kneels in front of Peter. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think that, but stop thinking like that. A crushed building is cause for concern. It can easily lead to trauma. Something big like that happens, you tell me. I won’t laugh at you, nor will I think any less of you.” He suddenly realizes something. “I took away your suit,” he mutters.

“No-no, Mr. Stark, it’s not your fault –”

“No, see, that’s where you’re wrong. If I hadn’t taken away your suit, you would have been able to call for help. Happy and I could have been on our way to help you. We could have stopped him, and you wouldn’t have had to crash land a plane. You wouldn’t have been as close to dying as you were. Now, I didn’t drop that building on you – and for that alone, I’m going to make sure the Vulture won’t see the light of day ever again –, but I took away the only thing that would have helped you.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you understand?”

Peter nods, and Tony hates how small he looks, and he hates even more how tiny his voice is. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”

He tries to smile and reaches out to tousle Peter’s hair. “You’re a good kid.” He returns to his bed. “Do you want to keep watching that show or continue to reveal our deepest, darkest secrets to each other?”

Peter smiles and considers the offer. “How about we just watch the TV show for now?”

Tony nods. “Of course.”

\---

It’s three days later when they finally cross into the California state line, and Tony reaches out and gently shakes Peter awake. Peter blinks up at him blearily before rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “Are we there yet?” he asks.

Tony rolls his eyes at the question. “Not quite. It’ll be another few hours.”

Peter huffs and curls up against the door of the car. “Cross-country trips suck.”

Tony laughs. “You wanted to go on one.”

“I didn’t think it would take this long!”

“You live on the other side of the country!”

Peter mutters something under his breath and twists so he’s comfortable – at least, as comfortable as he can be in the car. “Do we have to drive back?”

Tony hums in response, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “That’s up to you. If you want to drive back, we’ll have to make the trip in two days.”

“That’s impossible, Mr. Stark.”

He smiles. “Not entirely. If we don’t stop for anything but refueling, then we can pull it off in two days.”

Peter wakes up at that, and he turns to Tony with horror-stricken eyes. “No.”

“Alright, I’ll just get one of my planes to take us back home.”

Peter hums in agreement and settles back. “That’s fair.”

“Except what am I going to do with this car…” He dramatically taps his index finger against his chin.

“Compared to all the other cars you have, Mr. Stark, this is crap. No offense.”

Tony laughs. “That’s okay. I’ll probably just give it to Mia Thermopolis.”

“Who?”

Tony looks at Peter, his jaw falling slack. “You’ve never seen that movie?”

Peter shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

“Oh my God.” He looks back to the road and shakes his head. “Nope, uh-uh, we can’t have that. Once we get to the hotel, we’re going to watch both of them. This is not up for debate.”

Peter lets out a whine of complaint. “Mr. Stark.”

“Pineapple pizza, popcorn, and ice cream. Soda, too. That sound good?”

Peter perks up. “That sounds fantastic.”

They spend the rest of the car ride talking about Peter’s various subjects in school. Tony quickly discovers that it’s not really _school_ that Peter has a problem with, it’s just teachers that don’t care about teaching and students who are far too apathetic for his liking.

Tony tunes back in just as Peter’s saying, “And it’s not like Flash is stupid, he’s just a dick and he’s not as smart as the rest of us –”

“Flash?” Tony furrows his brows. “Isn’t that the kid who’s giving you trouble?”

Peter flounders like a fish out of water. “How-how-how do you know about that, Mr. Stark?”

He just shrugs. “I make it my business. Also, Happy reported it to me.”

Peter crosses his arms and shrinks against his seat. “I should have known not to trust Happy.”

Tony smiles half-heartedly. “No, I’m glad you did.” He shrugs. “I could give you a thousand and one pep talks about this, but I have a feeling that you would tune me out every single time.”

Peter considers this for a moment. “You’re probably right,” he finally says.

“No, I’m 100% right. Anyways – unless you actually want to talk about the whole Flash deal – how are college applications coming along?”

Peter groans and buries his face in his hands. “Mr. Stark, I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about this.”

“Kid, if I’m paying your tuition, I get to ask about college.”

“That’s fair.” He sighs and tugs his jacket sleeves up to his hands. “I just – besides MIT, I don’t really know where I want to go. I’ve wanted to go there since I was a little kid, but I mean, I don’t want to leave May by herself, and I don’t want Spider-man to move cities, but I really don’t – I don’t feel like going to college in New York, if that makes any sense?”

Tony purses his lips and nods. “It makes perfect sense.” He turns on his blinker and smoothly turns the car onto the exit. “So, in short, you have no idea?”

“Correct.” Peter shrugs. “I don’t even know what I want to major in.”

“I guess it depends on what you want to be.”

Peter quirks his lips into a small smile. “You hiring?”

Tony looks over at him. “For you? You always have a spot at SI, kid.”

“I don’t think a lot of people will like that very much.”

“I don’t think most people are as smart as you. I’ve seen your report card. Those grades are crazy high. Is anyone touching them, by the way?”

Peter thinks for a moment before he shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe MJ. But I think she’s sitting at second right now.”

“Isn’t she, like, crazy competitive _and_ crazy smart?”

He nods rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She’s, like, as smart as you.”

Tony laughs softly. “Well, I might have to offer her an internship, too.”

“I don’t think you should, Mr. Stark. She kinda hates you.”

He laughs again. “That’s fair.”

They pull into the hotel around three in the afternoon, and Tony sends for someone to dry-clean his and Peter’s suits. They take the elevator up to their room, and when Tony checks up on Peter once they’ve settled in, he finds that he’s fallen asleep.

He just smiles, turns off the light, and softly closes the door.

\---

Peter’s not exactly a fan of these kind of events, exactly.

It’s not that he doesn’t do well, it’s just…he seems a bit uncomfortable.

The only time Tony ever leaves Peter’s side is when he knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that any one of his three best friends are with him and will help him navigate any reporters if they try and corner him. Peter seems to enjoy sticking close to Rhodey and Pepper, and Tony kicks himself for bringing him here in the first place.

Yesterday, they toured San Francisco, and Tony might have been bored, but Peter’s excitement and wonder made up for all of it. He loved the salty air, and he loved using the trolley to get from one place to another.

But now Peter’s wearing a bow tie and holding a glass of apple cider (he made sure Pepper made sure that Rhodey made sure that Happy made sure that the bartender had _actually_ given him apple cider), and he smiles politely at one of the reporters, but he seems…stiff, in a way. In a way that Spider-man never was. In a way that even Peter Parker never was, even having met Tony.

It’s safe to say that Tony tries to make him loosen up.

Now, in most instances, he’d just keep buying drinks until it seemed like the other person had relaxed enough to have fun, but even _if_ Peter wasn’t a minor, he suspects that there are better ways to get Peter to relax.

So he drags Peter to the game room, tells him to take off his jacket and tie, and grabs two ping pong paddles, setting them on the table. Peter looks at them shyly as he rolls up his sleeves. “I don’t-I’ve never played before.”

Tony smiles at him and tosses him a ball. “Watch and learn, kid.”

It takes a while for Peter to get the hang of it, and even longer for him to manage to compete against Tony, but by the time he does, a crowd has gathered in the game room. Peter’s hair is mussed, and he subconsciously reaches up to push some wild hair from his eyes. Tony’s rolled up his sleeves as well, and his jacket and tie are tossed on one of the leather chairs. Someone starts a game of pool, but most everyone is focused on the mentor and mentee hashing it out over a ping pong table.

Peter picks up things quickly, Tony eventually decides.

The game is long and drawn-out, and it constantly switches between who is actually leading the score. One second, Tony is, and the next, Peter’s hit the ball so quickly and just-barely-in-bounds that Tony can’t catch it in time. It’s late by the time Tony manages to hit two good shots in a row, and he wins the game by two points.

Peter looks at him for a moment before he just starts laughing. “You’re getting old, Mr. Stark,” he finally says.

Tony huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, we’re not all fortunate enough to be teenagers.” He jerks his head towards the door and grabs his jacket. “C’mon, we should get you back home.”

Peter shakes his head. “Naw, Mr. Stark, can we stay for a little bit longer? One more hour?”

Tony shakes his head immediately. “No. Nope. I’ve got to be in bed by one, kid.”

“Thirty minutes?”

Oh no. Peter’s giving him the look – his big Bambi eyes are staring straight at him, and he’s pouting, and dammit, Tony’s just not strong enough to stand up against that. “Alright, fine, thirty more minutes.”

Peter’s smile is blinding. “Really, Mr. Stark?” He dashes up the stairs, and Pepper rolls her eyes as she gets his jacket and tie that’s still lying on the couch. “Thank you!”

Pepper sidles up to Tony. “He’s a good kid.”

He shrugs, and he knows for a fact that his smile hasn’t dimmed, even though reporters are snapping pictures. “I told you.”

\---

_Six months later…_

Water trickles down his neck, and even with the suit on, the feeling causes a shiver to run up his spine. For the most part, the suit is water-resistant, but when there’s this much rain, it kind of…isn’t.

He shakes his head, and water flings to the side. He’s perched on top of the Empire State Building (yeah, he likes testing his limits sometimes; sue him). In the past year, though, it’s been harder for him to reach these heights, and he clings to the slick surface as he leans over to peer at the ant-like humans that are bustling around the city.

It’s hard to breathe up here.

“Karen, the parachute’s been reinstalled, right?” he asks, a little breathless.

“Yes, Peter.”

He takes a shaky breath and nods. “O-okay.” He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders to try and relieve some tension. “I’ve got this, I’ve got this, I’ve got this.” He pushes himself off the edge of the building, and he shoots a web to the nearest building and begins swinging back to the neighborhoods of Queens.

He still hates heights.

He’s about to call it a night and stop patrolling for the time being, but he hears a woman scream, and he changes course immediately. He expects a mugging.

He does not expect a kidnapping.

“Hey, if you’re gonna take someone, take me!” he shouts.

He only realizes a bit too late what he’s just said.

The kidnapper considers this for a moment and then charges towards Peter. He’s a more experienced fighter than Peter’s used to, and Peter’s too busy trying to dodge knife attacks and punches that he doesn’t expect to get a cloud of drugs thrown in his face by the same woman.

He starts coughing and drops to the ground, rolling onto his back. “Oh, so you two are in cahoots, are you?” The man pulls back his foot and kicks Peter in the ribs, and he groans, shooting a web to the top of the wall. “Come on guys, it’s raining.”

The woman manages to slam him into the wall, and he groans again. “Okay, you really pack a punch, not gonna lie.” He turns around and quickly webs up their hands, and he swings into the man, knocking him to the ground. He webs him up from there, turns and sticks the woman’s legs to the wall. “Karen, notify police,” he says, disappearing from the scene.

So, a kidnapping. He’s never come that close before.

Also, it’s starting to get really hard to breathe. His breaths come fast and shallow, and he swallows, hoping that it’ll help him calm down a little, but his heart is still hammering, and he feels nauseous. He tries to take a couple of deep breaths, but the anxiety is still there, and he grits through his teeth, “Karen, activate panic mode.”

The noises of the city die down, and he feels some tension drain from his shoulders. He huffs out a laugh, but it lacks any trace of humor. “Last time I had one that bad, I dreamed about the building incident.” He shakes his head and brings his knees up to his chest. “Yeah, and then the one before that was the plane.” He rests his forehead on his knees and shakes his head again. “I’m such a mess.”

He doesn’t know how long he’s there, with the rain gently pattering against his back, soaking through his suit, but after a short time, he gets an alert from Tony.

**get to the tower**

Peter furrows his brow. “Karen?”

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I’m afraid my protocols mandate that I tell Tony Stark whenever you experience a panic attack. I would advise that you go to the Tower. Would you like me to plot course?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Of course,” he mutters. “No, I can get there on my own. Thanks.”

He swings through the city, stopping only once (this one was an _actual_ mugging) and once he gets to the tower, he walks through the front doors, water pooling around his feet. “FRIDAY, is Mr. Stark here?”

“Good God, kid, you’re gonna get pneumonia,” Tony says, tucking his StarkPad under his arm as he makes his way to Peter. He grips Peter’s bicep and leads him to the elevator. “Take us up to my floor,” he says to the AI.

Peter reaches up and takes off his mask, shaking the water from his hair. At Tony’s glare, he shrugs. “It’s wet?”

Tony just rolls his eyes.

Once they stop on Tony’s floor, Tony hurries off the elevator and returns less than thirty seconds later with a change of clothes in hand. He points to a guest bathroom. “Go change. Use a towel to dry your hair.”

Peter obeys, making a face at the Hello Kitty shirt. The boxer pants are less embarrassing, but still. When he walks out, Tony’s made a couple of sandwiches and he points to the couch in the living room. “Sit,” he commands.

Peter sits.

Tony hands him a plate and Peter takes it gingerly. Tony sits down across from him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having panic attacks?”

Peter shrugs. “I didn’t think it was that bad. Everyone has them. Even MJ does.”

“Peter, I can’t say everything for MJ, but I do know that you’ve had a building dropped on you, you nearly drowned, and you had to crash land a plane. If you’re having flashbacks, or PTSD or anxiety attacks, I need to know.”

“Mr. Stark, they’re still gonna keep happening –”

“No.” Tony’s voice is firm, and his eyes show that he isn’t, in fact, angry. He’s scared. Concerned. “No, they _might_ keep happening.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “2012, you remember that?”

Peter nods.

“Battle of New York, the wormhole. 2015, Ultron. Last year, the Avengers broke apart. I’m a mess, Peter. Before New York, I still had to deal with Afghanistan and the deaths of my parents. I’ve had a lot happen to me, kid. Trauma is something I’m all too familiar with.”

Peter tugs his legs up to the couch and sits criss-cross applesauce.

Tony shakes his head, once. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Have you been getting help?” Peter asks in a voice that’s too small, too young.

Tony looks down and smiles sadly. “It’s a process, kid. I’ve gone through six different therapists, but I didn’t seek help when I needed to. I only started to look for help,” he looks up at Peter, “after I met you.” He shakes his head again. “You’re a kid. I didn’t want you dealing with that.”

“I’m not going to a therapist,” Peter says.

“You don’t have a choice. Listen, my current therapist is good. She used to take care of military veterans before she thought she could make a bigger difference in the superhero department. I don’t trust a whole lot of people, kid. But I do trust her.”

Peter shrugs and fiddles with the blanket lying next to him. “Should I give it a try?”

“I think you should.”

He looks down and decides to wrap the blanket around his shoulders. “I don’t want to give away my identity.”

In that moment, Peter looks too breakable, and it breaks Tony’s heart. “I know. You can go as Spider-man, or you can go as both Peter Parker and Spider-man. I really do trust her, Peter.”

Peter nods and scratches the tip of his nose. “What’s her name?”

Tony nods. “Kimberly Beckham. I can give you a card, if you want.”

Peter shrugs. “If you think I should.”

“I’m begging you to not be like me.”

Peter quirks his lips in a small smile. “But you’re the best.”

Tony laughs, but it’s heartbroken. “No, I’m really not.”

Peter nods again. “Can I stay the night? We can watch a movie.”

Tony sighs. “As long as you tell your aunt where you are.”

Peter smiles. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Holy Trinity of Pain is still in the works, and I have another tumblr request that will take like eight years for me to fulfill. And no, I haven’t forgotten Stark Industries to Parker Industries.
> 
> Special shoutout to ercoleswife on Tumblr for the “Stella Stellina” lullaby!


End file.
